The Call to Prayer

From a narrow balcony we listen to dawn crackling over the city.

A mellow wail of Arabic words flows over the roofs,
streaking light-sound through a grey sky:
the voice stops, starts,
pushing people to their knees,
reminding them that the day ahead
cannot begin without hands held up,
foreheads lowered.

Crows flap, cawing, into the sky,
shaken into flying by centuries of habit.

And you turn and say something;
gathering the force that has woken
the lives around us.

When dawn breaks,
there can only be flight
into the dazzling.
There must be a wrenching from
the night.
In the midst of dawn
there can be only
heads bent in obeisance.

There are no words.
Only the body can answer
a call to prayer.

 
Written by Ramya Chamalie Jirasinghe on 23/10/13

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Day, Light, night, sky, words, people, flight, city, Flying

 
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Christine Holden This is the type of poem that asks you to think more deeply. 23/10/13

 

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